I'm m 43 years old, I get Botox, I get my lashes done, I microneedle my face, I spend money on skincare, I color my hair, and I’m already thinking about what I might want done to my face someday. Facelift? Maybe. Do I need to be researching that at 43? Probably not. Has that stopped my brain? Absolutely not. Apparently, my relationship with aging has decided we’re going to fight this thing all the way to the nursing home.

When I say it out loud, I hear how ridiculous some of it sounds. I am essentially trying to fight time. Time—the thing nobody has ever defeated. Yet somewhere inside me is this belief that if I use the right skincare, get Botox before the lines get deeper, keep my hair colored, maintain my lashes, take care of my body, and stay on top of every little change I notice, maybe I can keep aging at arm’s length for just a little longer.

But the more I think about my obsession with looking perfect, the more I realize this isn’t really a beauty story. It’s a perfectionism story. And underneath the perfectionism is something even bigger: control.

When Beauty Becomes Something I Can Control

There are plenty of things in life I cannot control. I can't control how other people behave. I can't control what happens tomorrow. I can't control time, my daughters getting older, relationships changing, unexpected problems showing up, or life deciding to throw another flaming bag of bullshit onto my porch.

But I can book a lash appointment.

I can color my hair.

I can put makeup on

I can schedule Botox.

I can buy another skincare product.

I can look in the mirror, find something bothering me, and at least attempt to do something about it.

That's where beauty and mental health become tangled together for me.

When everything else feels unpredictable, my appearance feels like something I can manage. If I don't like my hair, I can change it. If the lines on my forehead are bothering me, Botox can soften them. If putting lashes on makes me feel more put together when I wake up, I can get lash extensions. There's a beginning, a solution, and usually a visible result.

Life rarely gives you that kind of instant gratification.

You can't apply a serum to a complicated relationship and check back in six weeks. Unfortunately.

Beauty gives me something concrete to work on, and I think that's part of why perfectionism has attached itself so strongly to my appearance.

The Part That's Hard to Explain: It Actually Does Make Me Feel Better

This is where the conversation gets complicated, because I don't want to write another article telling women that beauty treatments are secretly making us miserable and we should throw away our makeup, cancel our appointments, embrace every wrinkle, and frolic barefoot through a field chanting affirmations.

That's not me.

Some of these things genuinely make me happy.

I love my lash extensions. They make getting ready easier. I can wake up, look half alive, and still have lashes doing enough work for both of us. I don't need as much eye makeup, and that's one less thing I have to worry about.

Botox makes me feel better too. When the lines that bother me aren't as noticeable, I think about them less. I'm not standing in front of the mirror making seventeen different facial expressions to determine whether my forehead aged overnight. I feel better about my appearance, and that absolutely affects how I feel mentally.

Skincare can be calming. Hair appointments can make me feel refreshed. Makeup can be fun. Microneedling makes me feel like I'm actively taking care of my skin.

These things aren't inherently bad.

That's important to me because beauty conversations sometimes become strangely judgmental. We're told we should love ourselves naturally, as though wanting Botox automatically means we hate ourselves. We're told aging is a privilege, which it absolutely is, but that doesn't magically erase complicated feelings about watching our appearance change.

I can know aging is inevitable and still struggle with aging.

I can appreciate myself and still want Botox.

I can know perfection doesn't exist and still chase it.

Welcome to my brain. Please keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times.

Perfectionism Keeps Moving the Finish Line

The problem isn't that I enjoy beauty.

The problem is that perfectionism never seems satisfied.

There is always another thing.

I can get my lashes done, but then my hair doesn't look right.

My hair can look great, but now I'm staring at my skin.

My skin can look good, but suddenly I'm examining a wrinkle I swear wasn't there three days ago.

Then there's my body.

Then my teeth.

Then my makeup.

Then my eyebrows.

Then something else.

Perfectionism has the most impressive work ethic of anyone I've ever met.

And that's what makes chasing physical perfection so exhausting: there is no actual finish line. Even if I somehow reached the version of myself I currently imagine as "perfect," my brain could simply create another standard.

That's something I've started recognizing more as I get older.

Beauty maintenance can be enjoyable.

Perfection maintenance is a full-time job.

The Financial Cost of Chasing Beauty

Then there's the money.

Sweet Jesus, the money

Beauty isn't cheap, especially when you start stacking treatments.

Lash extensions aren't one appointment; they're ongoing maintenance. Botox isn't permanent. Hair color grows out. Skincare runs out. Microneedling treatments require supplies or repeat appointments. Makeup expires or gets replaced. Hair products disappear suspiciously fast considering how little hair I actually have.

Each individual expense can seem reasonable.

Together?

I could probably have a lovely vacation fund if I weren't busy micro-funding the fountain of youth.

And that's another part of perfectionism that I don't think we talk about enough: the financial cost of beauty standards.

There is nothing wrong with spending money on something that makes you feel good when you can afford it. We spend money on hobbies, clothes, travel, restaurants, cars, entertainment, and countless other things because they bring us enjoyment. Beauty doesn't suddenly become morally inferior because it's related to appearance.

But it's worth looking at the total.

Not with shame.

With awareness.

How much am I spending?

How much time am I spending?

How much mental energy am I spending?

And most importantly: am I choosing these things because I genuinely enjoy them, or because I feel terrified of what happens if I stop?

That last question is uncomfortable.

It's also valuable.

The Time Nobody Puts on the Receipt

Money is easy to calculate. Time is sneakier.

An hour for lashes. Time doing skincare morning and night. Hair appointments. Makeup. Researching products. Comparing treatments. Looking at before-and-after pictures. Reading reviews. Thinking about what I want to change next.

Then there's the mental time.

That's the part nobody adds up.

How many minutes have I spent examining my reflection?

How many hours of my life have I spent thinking about my hair?

How many times have I walked past a mirror and automatically looked for something wrong?

How many moments have I spent thinking about preventing aging instead of simply existing at the age I currently am?

That's where this gets emotional for me.

Because I enjoy beauty. I don't want to give it up. I don't plan to stop coloring my hair, throw away my skincare, or dramatically announce that Botox and I are consciously uncoupling.

But sometimes I wonder what else I could have done with all that energy.

That's the contradiction.

Beauty is valuable to me.

And sometimes I worry I've made it too valuable.

Both can be true.

Social Media Didn't Invent Beauty Standards, but It Certainly Gave Them Wi-Fi

Women have dealt with beauty standards forever, but modern beauty culture is relentless.

We don't just see celebrities anymore. We see thousands of faces every day through Instagram, TikTok, filters, Facetune, cosmetic procedures, professional lighting, carefully chosen angles, and algorithms designed to keep showing us more of whatever makes us stop scrolling.

Then we compare our actual bathroom-mirror face at 7:12 in the morning to someone's filtered golden-hour face after professional hair, makeup, lighting, and editing.

Seems fair.

Filters have also quietly changed what "normal" looks like. Skin has pores. Faces have texture. Eyes have lines around them. Foreheads move. Jawlines aren't always sharp. Human beings are not walking Instagram filters.

Yet when flawless skin becomes what we see constantly, normal features can start looking like problems.

That's where I think awareness matters.

Not because I'm suddenly immune to beauty standards. Clearly, I am not.

But recognizing where some of the pressure comes from helps me question whether every flaw I see actually needs fixing.

Sometimes the answer is still, "Yep, I'm getting Botox."

At least now I'm thinking about why.

What I've Learned About Beauty Perfectionism

I'm not going to give you five magical steps for overcoming perfectionism because I haven't overcome mine.

I'm still living in it.

I still don't like leaving the house without makeup. I still want my hair to look right. I still notice wrinkles. I still think about aging. I still spend money on treatments because they make me feel better.

What I can offer is something more realistic: questions I've started asking myself.

Would I still want this if nobody else ever saw me?

That helps separate genuine preference from outside pressure.

Am I doing this because it's fun, or because I'm panicking about something changing?

Sometimes the answer is both.

Is this improving my quality of life or becoming another obligation?

My lashes save me time and make mornings easier. That's value. Spending an hour obsessively examining my skin under magnification? Not quite the same return on investment.

Can I comfortably afford this?

Beauty should not require financial chaos to maintain.

What happens emotionally if I can't do it?

That question tells me a lot.

These aren't rules. They're check-ins.

Because I don't think the answer is forcing myself to stop caring about beauty. I think the healthier goal for me is figuring out when I'm making a choice and when perfectionism is making it for me.

I'm Still Fighting Time

I know I'm going to age.

There's something almost comical about how clearly I understand that intellectually while another part of my brain continues going, Okay, yes, but perhaps we can negotiate.

We cannot.

Time has terrible customer service.

My skin will change. My hair will change. My body will change. Botox can soften lines, skincare can support healthy skin, and beauty treatments can make me feel fantastic, but none of them can freeze my life at 43.

And maybe that's what scares me more than the wrinkles themselves.

Aging is proof that time is moving.

Beauty treatments allow me to feel like I'm slowing something down, even temporarily. They give me control over something that ultimately cannot be controlled.

I'm starting to understand that about myself.

Understanding it hasn't magically made the feeling disappear.

But it has made me more curious about it.

Maybe that's where I'm at right now—not acceptance, not giving up, and definitely not throwing away my mascara.

Awareness.

I'm trying to notice when beauty feels like self-care and when it starts feeling like an obligation. I'm trying to enjoy the things that genuinely make me happy without convincing myself they're requirements for being worthy, attractive, or enough.

Some days I'm better at that than others.

I'm still going to get my lashes done.

I'm still going to color my hair.

I'm still going to use skincare.

I'm probably still going to sit in a Botox chair thinking, Take that, Father Time.

But I'm also trying to remember that I shouldn't have to spend every waking moment maintaining myself like I'm a historic building.

Because perfectionism is expensive.

It costs money.

It costs time.

It costs energy.

And sometimes it costs us the ability to appreciate ourselves before the next thing changes.

Maybe I'll never completely stop chasing perfection.

But I would like to stop letting the chase exhaust me.

For now, that's enough.

Frequently Asked Questions About Beauty and Perfectionism

Can perfectionism affect the way you see your appearance?

It can. Perfectionistic thinking can create extremely high personal standards and make small imperfections feel disproportionately important. Appearance-related perfectionism may also keep the goalpost moving, so reaching one beauty goal simply creates another concern to focus on.

Is getting Botox, lashes, or cosmetic treatments a sign of low self-esteem?

Not automatically. People choose cosmetic treatments for countless reasons, including convenience, personal preference, confidence, creativity, or simply because they enjoy the result. The more useful question may be how the choice affects you emotionally and financially.

How can I tell whether beauty has become an unhealthy pressure for me?

Pay attention to how much distress your appearance causes, how much time you spend thinking about perceived flaws, whether you're spending beyond your means, and whether avoiding a beauty routine creates intense anxiety or prevents you from living normally. If appearance concerns are significantly interfering with daily life, talking with a qualified mental health professional can be worthwhile.

How much should I spend on beauty treatments?

There isn't a universal number. A realistic beauty budget should fit comfortably after necessities, savings, debt obligations, and other priorities. Adding up the annual cost of recurring treatments can be eye-opening because a seemingly manageable monthly expense can become substantial over twelve months.

Do beauty treatments actually improve confidence?

They can improve how someone feels about a particular feature, and sometimes that boost is meaningful. But no treatment can guarantee lasting self-confidence. If the underlying standard is perfection, there's always another feature available for the brain to critique.

Do I have to embrace natural aging to have a healthy relationship with beauty?

No. You don't earn a self-acceptance trophy by refusing Botox or letting your hair go gray. You can care about your appearance, enjoy cosmetic treatments, and still work toward treating yourself with more kindness. The goal doesn't have to be caring less. Sometimes it's simply understanding why you care.

What is the difference between self-care and perfectionism?

For me, self-care generally leaves me feeling supported. Perfectionism leaves me feeling like I have another requirement to meet. The exact same beauty routine could feel completely different depending on the motivation behind it.

Beauty is complicated because we're complicated. I can enjoy the hell out of my lashes while questioning why I feel like I need them. I can appreciate Botox while knowing it won't stop time. I can want to look younger while understanding that getting older is inevitable.

I don't need to pretend those contradictions don't exist.

Maybe I just need to stop demanding that I resolve every single one of them perfectly.

Because, apparently, trying to be perfect at overcoming perfectionism would be exactly the kind of bullshit my brain would come up with.

~Tj🩷